


Daily Stress

by nanosorcerer



Series: Ironstrange/Supreme Family One Shots [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Comfort, Doctor Dad, Endgame doesn't happen, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Except Peter's head, Family Bond, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Dad, IronStrange, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sensory Overload, StrangeIron, Supreme Family, Thunderstorms, fear of storms, hugs and tea fixes everything, infinity war fix-it, spider baby, spider son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19852873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanosorcerer/pseuds/nanosorcerer
Summary: Sometimes the stresses of everyday life builds up, and simple, mundane things become too much when you have enhanced senses or your mental health isn't 100%. Peter, Stephen, and Tony all cut their day short when their headaches and anxiety drive them back home and to each other for relief and comfort.





	Daily Stress

**Author's Note:**

> Idk why I procrastinated posting this for so long. Maybe because I hated it until now? Anyway...  
> Chronologically, this one shot happens after "Hearing Everything", hence, Stephen and Peter's relationship has progressed quite a bit. They've more of a comfortable quiet about their interactions and I love writing it.  
> We've been having a lot of thunder storms where I live lately, which served as inspiration for this one shot, since I get really bad head aches when ever there's a storm. I'll never get sick of writing hurt/comfort with these three.

It started off with a headache for all three of them.

Peter woke up with his, feeling the change in air pressure before anyone else did as a storm approached New York. He grumbled about his sore head to Tony as he entered the kitchen, jostling for room at the toaster as they usually did. Peter muttered about needing twenty Advil just to see straight, moving to the fridge to pour himself a glass of orange juice. Sipping from his mug, Tony raised a mildly concerned brow from his usual blank ‘coffee face’ as Stephen and Peter had dubbed it. Fridays were usually a much more joyful occasion than this. The teen slumped out the front door of the Sanctum after popping two Advil, stealing his dad’s toasted bagel, said groggy dad peering around for cream cheese in the cupboard though it was always kept in the fridge.

Tony’s headache began soon after Peter left. ‘It’s usually the other way around’, he thought to himself with a wry frown, though he didn’t mean it. A caffeine-fuelled night of peering at a computer screen had left his eyes fried and head pounding. Field reports had been pushed back for months until Tony was forced to pull an all nighter, something he now regretted as tension gripped at the base of his neck and centre of his forehead. He grunted in acknowledgment as Stephen swept into the kitchen, far too awake for eight o’clock in the morning, planting a kiss on his sleepy husband’s cheek. The sorcerer hummed in response as Tony muttered something about going to take a power nap before his meetings started for the day.

It wasn’t until around ten thirty that Stephen began to feel the familiar pressure creeping up his temples, alerted to the change in barometric pressure a little sooner than most people, but still lagging behind Peter considerably. ‘Tony never gets these change-in-weather headaches’, Stephen mulled as he tried to focus on the page in front of him. The engineer loved rain and storms, as most mentally unwell people did, especially since he spent most of his time around electronics. Only once Stephen had attempted to read the same sentence five times, did he admit defeat, close his book, and curl up on his mat to see if meditation would help quell the rising strain in his skull. 

*****

Peter twirled his pencil between his fingers, focusing on the pink blur of the eraser spinning around as he provided himself with something to focus on. The constant giggling, whispering, and tittering from his classmates was enough to make him grit his teeth, unable to even focus on the unbearable drone of the teacher. The pounding in his head was nearly unbearable at this point; he’d gone to the nurse for more Advil, but they wouldn’t take him seriously unless he was doubled over in pain. The bell rang and the piercing sound split his skull, fluorescent lights making his eyes water as he stepped into the hall, just as it erupted with the noise of a couple hundred teenagers. Peter wanted to sob as his head throbbed dangerously, chest tight as he squeezed through the crowd. ‘Shut up, shut upshutupshutupshutup-“, he chanted in his head, silently willing people to make less noise. With a spike of fear, he felt his heartbeat kick into high gear, his flight instincts kicking in though there wasn’t any real danger. Ears ringing, Peter ducked into his next class, wishing the day would go quicker.

*****  
Tony, halfway across the city, twirled his pen in agitated fingers in a similar fashion to his son. His perfectly tailored suit felt too tight around his chest, glancing at the windows to check for the umpteenth time if they were open or not. They weren’t, of course; the muggy, city air was kept out as the air conditioning blasted in the conference room, stuffy men in stuffy suits kept comfortable in their overly-cool buildings which reeked with pretentiousness, just as the hot summer air reeked with sweat and car exhaust. Tony’s eyes scanned the room, the situation, for triggers. There were none. Nothing that should have caused the growing panic in his chest. He felt trapped. That was it. Sweat trickled down the dip of his spine despite the frigid air in the room. It was unnaturally cold, windows so thick he couldn’t even feel the approaching storm which he loved so much. He could see it, storm clouds grey and ominous hanging over the tops of skyscrapers. Settling in for the remaining hour of the meeting, Tony gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles white, feeling his pulse thrumming against the leather. 

*****

Stephen sighed deeply, his usual composed rigour failing as he slumped from his straight-backed meditation pose with defeat. He’d been trying to meditate for the past two hours, every attempt to fall into a proper meditative state thwarted by the vice grip around his temples. His hands had joined in now, shaking even more incessantly than usual, an ache deep in his fingertips sending an uneasy twinge up his arms every few seconds. He closed his eyes, straightened his spine, willing to try one more time, almost sighing in relief as his phone rang from the other room. Opening up a small portal, he grabbed his phone from the table, swiping the phone icon to the green side when he saw Peter’s name on the screen. 

“Peter. You alright?” The teen knew the sorcerer did his heavy meditation in the early afternoon, so wouldn’t have called unless something was wrong. And it was only 1:15; ten minutes into Peter’s third period class.

“No”, came the strained reply through the phone. “M’head really hurts. Can you pick me up?” Stephen prickled in concern at the teen’s apparent inability to construct lengthy sentences. 

“I’ll be right there. Meet me outside. No need to make a spectacle.”

“‘Kay.” Getting to his feet somewhat unsteadily, Stephen shucked his cardigan off, knowing it would be much hotter outside of the Sanctum. Adjusting his sling ring, he opened another portal, this one much bigger than the last, outside the front doors of Peter’s school. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he flicked through his phone for five minutes before looking around in concern. Peter should have been out there by now. Huffing slightly, the sorcerer jammed his hands into his jean pockets to hide his trembling hands, using a discreet spell to push open the door, making a beeline for the main office. 

Peter was standing at the receptionist’s desk, looking pale and miserable, brown eyes lighting up with relief when he saw Stephen.  
“Didn’t you sign out?”, Stephen asked him, though the answer was obvious.

“They won’t let me”, Peter replied weakly, wincing from the sound of his own voice. Pinching his fingers to his own sore temple, Stephen strode up to the desk, fixing the woman behind it with an unimpressed, hazy glare.  
“You won’t let him sign out? The kid obviously feels like shit.” The receptionist regarded him for a second before returning to her computer, bored. She dealt with feisty teens all day, a feisty adult wasn’t anything new either, no matter how imposing he looked. 

“He doesn’t have a doctors’ note, or any concrete symptoms. That’s what the nurse said. He could be faking for all we know.” Something in Stephen’s eyes darkened, like the storm clouds rolling over the school as they spoke, his hand twitching with the suppressed memory of a spell. Usually cool and composed, his pounding head and the heat were making him edgy so he had little patience for people disrespecting him or Peter.

“Like hell he’s faking it. I’m taking him home. Where’s the sign out sheet?” The receptionist relented, grabbing a clipboard, but paused as she gave him a once over.

“Who exactly are you again, sir?” Peter watched Stephen’s reaction and would have been intimidated if he didn’t know what a complete push-over he was. If the sorcerer had hackles, they would have been standing on end as he glowered at the receptionist.

“His dad. Give me the clipboard”, he deadpanned.

“I’ve seen Peter’s dad, you are not-.”

“I’m his other dad”, Stephen growled, literally snatching the clipboard from her, scratching out his signature before dropping it back on the desk. “Thanks so much”, the sorcerer snapped, sarcastically enough to give Tony a run for his money. He turned on his heel and stalked back down the hall, Peter trailing slightly, reopening the portal once they were safely on the sidewalk. 

Stepping into the Sanctum, Peter headed right for the kitchen, ducking into the freezer to grab a bag of frozen peas. He dropped the bag on the counter and then his head on the bag, stretching his arms out and laying with his chest on the cool marble countertop, hoping to slow the hot, frenzied pounding in his head. Stephen came up beside him with a sympathetic rumble, palm flat as he rubbed slow, soothing circles onto the teen’s back.

“Thanks, Dad”, Peter stressed the title in amusement, mumbling into his frozen peas. This earned an eye roll from the sorcerer, though Peter noticed he didn’t meet his eyes.

“It’s easier than saying ‘adoptive dad’s husband’, okay?” Peter just snorted, mumbling something into the bag of peas again.

“What was that?”, Stephen pressed, his tone teasing as he gripped the teen’s sides in warning, threatening to tickle him if he didn’t speak.

“You went full Papa bear mode on her. She was freaked. I’ve never seen Mrs. Vanwheet actually have an expression”, Peter snickered. Stephen gave him a look, something steady and calm in sea-green eyes as he continued his back rub, shaking his head affectionately as he muttered under his breath, ‘Papa bear’ in amusement. Their quiet, peaceful moment was blown to pieces as the front door to the Sanctum was thrown open, slammed shut, and a pair of very angry, very expensive dress shoes came thundering up the stairs. 

“For the love of - holy fuck!”, Tony exclaimed eloquently, hucking his suit jacket onto the couch as hard as he could. “Who in the ever loving f-.“ Only then did he notice Stephen and Peter’s presence, some of the fire leaving the panicked expression in dark brown eyes.

“What are you two doing home?”, he asked, his voice reaching that pitch that Stephen knew too well. His husband was in the desperate throes of an anxiety attack and it was frustrating him to no end, apparently, as all 5’9” of him quivered in response to his shot nerves. Bypassing the anxiety-fuelled question, Stephen stepped towards him, reaching out with reassuring hands.

“Honey, your voice. Spiderling and I’ve both got splitting head aches.” The other man barely responded, eyes vacant as he stood, hyperventilating. “It’s okay. Come here.” With magic-steadied hands, Stephen undid the knot in Tony’s tie, unbuttoned his dress shirt and pulled it off, leaving him in his black t shirt. Still vibrating with anxiety, pupils dilated hugely, Tony reached a hand out blindly and found Stephen’s chest, felt his heartbeat, subconsciously sought out the feeling. His husband drew him in with gentle hands which shook again, running them gently down the side of his face until Tony’s eyes refocused, his breathing slowing as he met Stephen’s gaze.

“Sorry”, he breathed, to which Stephen shook his head as a reminder; none of them were allowed to apologize unless it was actually warranted. Tony took the taller man’s hands in his own, noticed how much they were shaking, frowning as he looked down at them. ‘I’m okay’, Stephen mouthed, expression sympathetic as he pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. Tony nodded, sliding around the island to lean on the cool marble adjacent from Peter. 

“What’s up, Petey-pie?”, he muttered, his usual easy demeanour returning with his slowed heart rate. The teen lifted his now too-cool forehead from the frozen peas, squinting at his dad.

“Storm. Noise. Head hurts”, he grunted, pressing his forehead to the crook of Tony’s shoulder as the man accepted him into his arms.

“Okay. Okay, baby. Go get your jammies on, we’ll watch a movie, okay?” Peter gave a silent thumbs up as he pulled himself off his dad’s chest, not risking a nod. Watching the teen stalk to his room, Tony looked up when Stephen moved closer to him.

“Triggers?”, he asked plainly, wincing through a painful jolt in his own head. Tony sighed hugely, gaze traveling from his hands, the cupboards, his shoes, before falling on Stephen’s face, calm like the sea on a clear day. 

“No. Just a bad day. I still had three meetings to get through before I left, but I couldn't do it. Storm helps, though.”

“Speak for yourself”, Stephen mumbled, putting the kettle on by reflex despite the intense heat outside. “It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on my head.” Tony gave a sympathetic head tilt, before stepping forward to press his forehead to Stephen’s shoulder, much like Peter had just done with him.

“I’d help you out, but I’ve got one on my chest, so…” They fell into comfortable silence, Stephen’s chin resting on Tony’s head, breathing in the scent of his soft, greying hair, something about the smell of his shampoo easing the tension in his skull slightly. The boiling kettle interrupted their silent safety net with a whistle, Peter padding down the hall at the same time.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”, Tony answered automatically, but Peter shook his head.

“I meant Stephen. I mean, he did call himself my dad today.” Stephen turned to Tony who was looking at him with gape-mouthed glee, though he hid his joy in feigned accusation.

“Stephen Strange, are you trying to steal my son?”, he grinned, immensely enjoying the sorcerer’s squirming stance.

“The receptionist was being difficult, alright? And I wasn’t in the mood to spend five minutes explaining our relationship when-.”

“Babe”, Tony cut him off with placating hands. “We’re just messing with you. It’s all good.” Stephen shrugged noncommittally as he poured the tea, leaving Tony and Peter to gather snacks and blankets and choose a movie. They reconvened in the tv room, Stephen carrying in the mugs with a simple levitation spell. The Sanctum was cool enough that blankets were acceptably comfortable, Tony and Peter already curled under one as Stephen sat next to them, grabbing the bowl of Smartfood Peter had filled. 

“Scooch your legs”, he muttered to them both, Peter and Tony lifting their feet so he could position his longer legs beneath their calves. Peter was slumped against Tony’s chest as they shared a bag of chips, though Tony started as the opening scene of Finding Nemo played on the tv. 

“Woah, we can’t watch this. This movie always makes me cry”, Tony said, half serious and half with an exaggerated pouting bottom lip.

“Big softy”, Peter teased, his voice raspy with affection and a touch of emotion as he head butted Tony’s shoulder softly.

“You’re both saps”, Stephen muttered, leaning over to grab the mugs of ginger tea from the table. Peter took his gratefully, knowing from experience to trust Stephen’s advice when it came to soothing teas. Tony, on the other hand, still couldn’t get over the ‘pretentious leaf water’ image he’d had of tea his entire life.

“I’m okay, Steph. I don’t have much of a headache.” Stephen regarded him with a small frown. 

“Just take it. It won't do you any harm to just try it.”

“You never know. I once heard-.”

“Drink the tea, Anthony”, Peter deadpanned in such a way that made both adults snort, Stephen on his tea, Tony on his laughter. Tony relented, taking the mug almost guiltily from his husband’s shaking hand.

“Okay, okay. I’ll drink your magic leaf water.” He took a small sip, raising his brows slightly. “What’s in it, anyway?”

“It’s just tea. With a little honey”, Stephen said, like he always did.

They settled in to watch the movie, all sipping on their drinks which, Tony had to admit, was calming the last rough edges of his anxiety. Or maybe it was Peter, who still had his cheek on his chest as he watched the movie, his steady breathing reminding Tony what a normal heart rate was. Almost subconsciously, Tony lifted a hand to settle in the teen’s mess of curls, massaging his temples while playing with individual ringlets in between his thumb and forefinger. If spiders could purr, Peter would have been as all tension in his body, including that in his head, dissolved under his dad’s hand, eyes closed in bliss, empty mug balanced precariously in his lap. Stephen, watching them more than the movie, levitated their empty mugs to the coffee table, settling back into the cushions as his own head ache had subsided. His eyes had almost drifted shut when an enormous crack of thunder suddenly shook the window panels, making both the sorcerer and teen jump. The rain started almost as suddenly, growing from a gentle pattering to heavy thrumming against the windows in a matter of minutes. 

“There’s you storm, Tony”, Stephen half grumbled. His accident had happened while it was raining, it was as simple as that. The sounds of raindrops hitting glass reminded him all too clearly of that night, the same sound on his windshield before the bright light from the other car hit his eyes, spinning, out of control, his hands hitting the dashboard. Stephen was pulled back to reality before he could dissolve any further into his thoughts, Peter stretching out in the spot between him and the back of the couch as they both lied lengthwise on it. The teen also got uneasy when ever there was a big storm, never mind the headache he got every time, but the electric charge in the air and the loud claps of thunder set his nerves on edge, abusing his enhanced senses for as long as the storm lasted. Their mutual hate for this particular weather pattern often left Stephen and Peter curled up together in their shared misery, or at least in one another’s general proximity, in case the other needed comfort.

Tony, on the other hand, revelled in any storm that passed through, often spending hours sitting at the big windows, enjoying the sound of the rain as he sat on his laptop or did paperwork on the old leather couch. The only thing that kept him from enjoying the poor weather completely was knowing how much discomfort it caused his family. 

Peter slung an arm across Stephen’s middle as he snuggled into his chest, trying to drown out the boom of thunder, instead focusing on the steady thump of the sorcerer’s heart. He smiled quietly as Stephen pressed a kiss to his head, nuzzling into his hair and calming scent. Tony rested his arms on Stephen’s legs, which were across his lap, leaning back into the couch with a sigh, closing his eyes and letting the steady thrum of the rain envelop him. He could feel Stephen watching him, drowsy green eyes steady and calm like a cat’s, but it was a pleasant thought, knowing he was safe under his husband’s watch. He knew Stephen always liked to be the last one awake, wanting to know that his family was at ease before he fell asleep himself. 

And the sorcerer did just that, waiting for Peter’s breathing to steady, soft puffs of breath which Stephen could feel on his chest. Tony had drifted off soon after his son, arms crossed and chin falling to rest on his chest in true dad-falling-asleep-on-the-couch fashion. Stephen smiled affectionately, feeling warm, oh, so warm, but not unpleasantly as his gaze wandered over the peaceful, sleeping faces of his husband and son. His headache completely dissipated, the sorcerer let his eyes drift shut slowly, not so bothered by the sound of the rain anymore, not like he used to be.


End file.
